No Footprints
by Koalasprincess
Summary: Clarke hit the Earth with a confidence we're all familiar with, but its a hoax. The fearless leader of the 100 wears a thick mask to hide the sick teenager beneath it. She's always been good at hiding her illness... but what happens when no-weakness Lexa notices? I'll update every Thursday if I get enough interest... that means review people.


Clarke was thirteen years old when it started. She had been up most of the night gossiping with Miles about their teacher being floated, who would take over and _what did she do?_

"Kids go to bed" Abby would groan every once in a while and Miles' face would drop like a kicked puppy. Clarke would seal her mouth for about ten minutes before her eyes would glisten and an onslaught of built up words would pour out from between her lips. The boy next to her would roll his eyes and let her run out of steam before cutting in with his own opinion.

The teenagers sat with crossed legs, facing each other, and when Clarke got excited she'd lean forwards ever so slightly and balance on her hands in front of her. Miles watched her with a love-sick expression, his newly developed crush eating him up inside. When he noticed the bare, soft curve of her shoulders and the way her tank-top fit snugly against her waist he swallowed and clambered to his feet.

"Miles?" Clarke looked up in confusion at the boy and tossed her head to get her fringe out of the way. The wispy blonde thing just fell back into place and Clarke sighed at her obstructed view before pushing it back swiftly with her right hand and shifting her weight onto her left as she gazed expectantly upwards. "...Miles?" She harrumphed in frustration at his lack of response and stood with a moan as her muscles moved for the first time in hours.

Miles came to with a sharp breath as he watched the maturing beauty stretch and shaking slightly, he reached forwards and ticked her sides. Anything to touch her.

"Miles! Miles you idiot stop!" Clarke shot out between hoots of laughter and tried to squirm away.

"Never Clarkey" Miles cried triumphantly as they came to a standstill. Clarke found herself wrapped in his arms as he was holding her in place, and just as the moment began to leak into awkwardness, Miles swept the blonde off of her feet and threw her laughing form onto the couch. "Wow Clarkey" he teased panting from laughter, "When did you get so heavy?"

The next morning the duo begged Abby for chocolate chip pancakes. " _Please_ Mum?" Clarke gutted out her lower lip and a practiced tear welled at her eyes.

"Okay, okay fine" Abby receded "but Clarke you've had these for three consecutive days! You need to watch your sugar intake young lady". Abby was joking, but Clarke felt the comment bother her as she glanced down at the milky thighs hidden beneath the breakfast table.

"Yeah Clarkey" Miles cut in, "don't you remember when Ms. Page told us about thrombosis? Just imagine all those pancakes wrapped up inside your coronary arteries".

He winked and Abby hit the back of his head playfully, "don't call my daughter fat" she scowled dramatically.

"Oh no," Miles grinned at Clarke cheekily, "just slightly chubby." Clarke smiled weakly back at him and fingered the excess flesh on her legs.

The thoughts crept up on Clarke. At first it was the dieting- she learnt to avoid things like chocolate chip pancakes and began to eat an obscene amount of celery. Miles started calling her _bunnygirl._ Then she started running, she ran on the treadmills in the gym with a large, baggy shirt and track pants that served their purpose- hiding her. She ran to tire herself out, to release her frustration and most of all? She ran to burn the calories.

Numbers. They started to rule her life. The number on the label of her jeans, the number on the tape-measure around her waist, the number on the scale and the numbers that she now associated with every morsel of food that she allowed to pass into her system. Numbers were simple, they defined her by strict and factual terms and she always knew where she stood with them. Big numbers were bad. Bad, bad _bad._

By the time Clarke was sent off to Earth, she was sick. No one knew- she was good at staying away from the lime light and with a lacking in friends, a dead father and a very busy mother Clarke was quite content in her darkness. All ribs and collar bones and long, thin fingers.


End file.
